


Help Is On Its Way

by ImagineYourself



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineYourself/pseuds/ImagineYourself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why is it that whenever something happens to Dean, it's the angel that has to save him? Kidnapped by demons after a spat with Cas about how he'd used up his power on the last hunt, Dean's caught in a situation that could quickly turn from bad to worse unless his angel (and his brother) can get there in time. Duo of Dean's perspective and then Cas'. Very light Destiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help Is On Its Way

_Dean_

Dean remembered yelling at Cas. He remembered shouting in the angel’s face to “stay the hell away” all because Cas had used up his angel power in a recent fight and still wanted to help the boys on a hunt. He remembered the icy stone that dropped in his stomach at the broken expression in Castiel’s piercing eyes. And he remembered leaning against the wall in that motel after Cas had stormed out and grinding his forehead into the plaster.

He remembered all of that from when it happened just hours before. But he couldn’t forget the looks of sinister delight that had been etched into the faces of three demons as they cornered him an hour later in the alley by the bar he’d been drinking at unceremoniously.

And now he sat, tied to a chair with ropes tight enough that they were cutting off the circulation in his hands and feet.

“Look who’s finally woken up!” sneered a tall wiry man who wasn’t passing up the chance to show off his glistening black eyes. His companions, an attractive looking woman with dark red hair and a beefy young man who obviously spent a lot of time at the gym, closed in around him.

“What do you want?” Dean spit at them, struggling in his ropes a moment before realizing it was futile. He contented himself with watching the three through narrowed eyes.

The redhead had Ruby’s knife in her hand and was rubbing her thumb across the flat edge of it. She gave him a petulant look. “Right to the point? I was thinking we could have a little fun first,” she whined.

“Careful, sweetheart,” Dean replied in a mocking tone, “You might cut yourself on that.”

Her face quickly turned ugly as she scowled at him. Moving faster than Dean had expected the demon took a seat on his lap and stroked the tip of the blade across his cheek and down his chest. It stopped right above his heart. She seemed about to say something when the taller man cut in.

“Enough. We’re not here to play games.” There was a serious look to his face that mirrored the other man’s. The woman looked somewhat forlorn, but she retreated and continued twisting the blade in her hands with a faint smile on her full lips.

“No games?” Dean hid the minor fear flickering through his veins with a practiced “macho attitude”. “Damn. I was looking forward to some ‘Go Fish’ with you guys.”

The beefy demon curled his lip in a sneer but the tall one held up his hand. “No, Dean Winchester. No games today. We want info.”

“Info on what?” Dean asked in a snarky manner.

“On your little angel,” he supplied, the corners of his mouth turning up as Dean’s eyes grew cold.

“We heard he’s running low on angel juice,” the redhead supplied nastily. “Wanted to know if it was true. So… is it?” She leaned towards him, the knife caressing his temple.

“Why don’t you just ask him yourself?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” she pouted, looking for backup in her fellow demons.

Her companions ignored her and the tall one replied, “We decided not to take the risk.”

“So why bring me here?” Dean was under heavy scrutiny and couldn’t very well look around lest they think he was planning an escape so he gathered what he could from his peripheral vision. He was in what seemed to be a warehouse with piles of boxes to one side and stacked metal palettes to the other.

Suddenly he noticed something. There was a window on the right wall that was partly hidden by the redhead’s body. He pretended to eye her while really looking at the window where he swore he could see a shadow moving back and forth before disappearing quickly.

Dean’s attention was brought back to the demons as the woman spoke. “We needed somewhere… secluded. For obvious reasons.” She grinned and pressed down on Dean’s cheek with the knife until it bled.

Dean flashed a cocky grin. “Gonna be tough, you know. I have a high tolerance for pain.”

“Really?” the redhead gave him a narrow-eyed look and plunged the knife into his thigh. Somehow, Dean managed to cover up his gasp of pain with sharp laughter.

“So, Dean,” the tall demon began, raising an eyebrow. “Is the angel out of his ‘mojo’?”

“Screw you,” Dean replied with a smirk as the demon removed the blade from his leg. But he soon began to cough out dark blood as he was stabbed between the ribs. It was a place that would miss his most vital organs, but it sent waves of pain crashing through him as his chest convulsed.

“You can kill me if you want,” Dean managed to say, seething, “but I won’t say a thing.”

“Pity,” the redhead mused as she twisted the knife.

_Hurry up, Sam_ , Dean thought over and over in his head as his blood slowly dripped to the floor.

 

What felt like hours, but was only a few minutes, passed by and Dean found himself with another hole in his side and three long, shallow gashes running down his chest. Sam had still not arrived and Dean began to fear that the shadows he had seen outside the window had been his imagination.

The demons continued prodding and poking him with both questions and various blades, but he was resolved to not give in. This torture was nothing compared to what he’d endured in Hell. Eventually, though, Dean began to black out. His senses came and went. He would see glimpses of black eyes and flashing knives.

And then suddenly he heard the sound of a shotgun going off and vaguely thought of Sam. His head was bowed and he could feel blood dripping from his mouth and mixing with the blood that was already soaking his clothes from his wounds. Dean’s eyes opened halfway and he saw a blur of tan as it moved towards him.

“…Cas…” he whispered painfully. He heard his brother’s voice chanting Latin and then suddenly there was quiet. “…Cas…” Dean whispered again. He coughed suddenly, a racking contraction that went through his whole chest and pushed more blood through his open wounds. He felt a hand touch his cheek and raised his chin. Dean’s eyes fluttered but he could make out two faces above him.

“Man, he’s really beat up. Can you do anything to help?”

“I might be able to heal the worst of his injuries and those inflicting his internal organs.”

“Do it.”

“It will make me even weaker.” There was a pause. “But he is dying and I can’t allow that.”

Dean barely heard the words as they were spoken, but he felt as someone cut the ropes that bound his arms and legs. Then he closed his eyes as he felt a warm glow envelop his chest. There was a flood of golden light behind his eyelids and the waves of pain lessened to a dull throb. He also felt someone on either side of him, holding each of his arms as they lifted him from the chair and all but dragged him out of the warehouse.

The chilly air outside stung the slices that were still bleeding on Dean’s chest, but he was breathing somewhat normally again. He was laid down in some sort of car which he heard rumble familiarly as it was brought to life. There was a silence filled only with the lull of the engine. Dean slowly felt himself slipping into darkness again and called out, “Cas…” but it came out as more of a breathy pant.

“Will he be okay?” Dean heard faintly.

“He just needs rest. And bandages.”

“Should we take him to the hospital anyway?”

“He’s not in danger any more. I healed everything internal and the rest is shallow. In a few days I should be able to heal him the rest of the way.”

If anything else was said, Dean didn’t hear. He drifted into the dark threads of unconsciousness and only woke once a pair of strong arms grasped his own and pulled him up, making Dean groan in sharp pain. His eyes finally opened fully and saw his brother’s face swimming before him.

Sam helped him out of car and supported him as he limped towards the motel room they’d been staying in. Dean fell ungraciously into a chair in the kitchen area and groggily observed as Castiel closed the door behind the brothers. Sam kneeled in front of Dean and peeled his blood soaked shirt off, exposing the nasty looking cuts that stretched from his shoulder across to his side.

“Shit, I forgot the first aid,” Sam muttered, standing again and dropping the bloody rag on the floor.

“I can—” Cas began but Sam interrupted.

“It’s fine,” he said, already opening the door, “I’ll get it.” The door shut with a click that echoed in Dean’s ears. The injured man’s eyes slowly found the angel but Cas was looking anywhere but him.

“Cas…” he started, his voice cracking. Dean tried to sit up straighter but grimaced in pain as fresh blood began to ooze down his torso. Cas was at his side in a moment, hand on his shoulder to hold him down. Dean looked up at him and met those bright blue eyes with regret.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, hoping that his own eyes could convey the deep message better than his feeble words could. “This wouldn’t have… if I—and I shouldn’t… said those things,” he added in a mumble of disjointed thoughts.

Castiel’s cool hand rested on Dean’s bloody, flushed cheek. “It’s fine, Dean. I know you only said that because you didn’t want me to get hurt.”

Dean wanted to say something more but a flash of pain ripped through his chest just as Sam entered the room again. Instead of words, though, it seemed Cas was content with just communicating with Dean through their eyes. _I’m so sorry,_ Dean attempted to convey. _It’s forgiven_ , the angel’s seemed to say in return.

 

_Cas_

 “But, Dean, I can help.” Cas was nearly pleading with the man, but Dean wouldn’t have any of it.

“No you can’t! Just… just stay the hell away until you can get your friggen mojo back and be at least a little useful!” Dean’s words were like a slap to the face for Castiel. Cas stared at him for what seemed like ages while Sam looked between them, obviously uncomfortable in the tension. Finally, Cas broke eye contact and turned away, moving towards the open door.

“Fine,” he said firmly, slamming the door shut behind him. He stood just outside for a moment, waiting to see if Dean would run after him, but all was quiet inside the motel room, and eventually Cas started walking.

He walked through the parking lot and to the street, wandering the sidewalks of the town. His mind was blank; he couldn’t even hear the angels talking to him. A feeling of utter stupidity crossed his heart as he cursed himself for using up all of his grace on the last hunt. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he’d felt it almost necessary to prove himself to the Winchesters. He realized only after that it was a mistake.

After a couple of hours meandering aimlessly, Cas found himself in a park. It was deep into the night already so it was deserted, but a chill breeze pushed at the swings that he felt inside his vessels bones. It was a curious feeling, being inside a vessel for so long and not knowing extreme heat or cold, to suddenly feel it. It made him feel… human.

Cas made his way to a bench, wet with dew, that he promptly sat on and sighed heavily. He and Dean didn’t fight much, but when they did, it made him feel horrible. Dean was his entire world. Everything he had done was for that man, even if many of his good intentions hadn’t ended very well. The wind blew again and ruffled his hair, stinging his bright blue eyes.

Suddenly, Cas felt something. It was a shift of sorts, in the little of his grace that was slowly gathering strength again. Over their time together, he had developed a sort of connection with Dean due to the bond they shared from Castiel’s grace and his storm into Hell. Whenever something happened to Dean, be it an emotional disturbance or physical, Cas could faintly feel it. Normally, it would be as if Dean had called him and he could immediately go to the human. But because his grace was so weak, Cas could barely feel the tug. He stood and began his slow journey back to Sam.

Along the way though, he spotted the younger Winchester walking on the other side of the street and went across, calling his name.

“Cas? What’s going on?” Sam asked, noting the somewhat worried look on Castiel’s face.

“It’s Dean. Something has happened.” Cas paused, trying to feel for the tug. It was growing even weaker, meaning he was further away. “Where was he last?”

Sam didn’t even stop to question how Cas knew. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly, “but my guess is he went to a bar. Come on, the closest one is a block over.”

Cas trailed Sam as they moved down the street. The darkness of the night seemed to weigh heavy on both of their shoulders. When they arrived at the bar, they both immediately saw the Impala sitting in the back of the lot and headed inside, scouring the half-empty building for Dean. After splitting up to search and asking the bartenders if they’d seen him, there was no sign at all that he’d even been there except for the car. Sam investigated the alleys by the bar and found traces of sulfur, calling over Cas.

“Demons,” he said, turning as Cas neared. “I think they took him.”

“Why would they?”

Sam shrugged. “No idea.” He looked around the ground for any indication where they could have gone and stumbled upon a scrap of paper half hidden in a puddle by the curb. Scrawled on the paper was an address somewhere in that same city. It wasn’t much, but it was the only lead they had so Sam wasn’t passing up the chance to check.

They broke into the Impala, Sam hotwiring it, not even caring that Dean would probably be pissed at him for it. It took them nearly half an hour to find the exact place. They had been driving in circles around a whole group of warehouses, Cas trying to pinpoint where he was. At first he’d felt nothing at all until suddenly it was there, Dean’s silent plea for help that called out to the tiny flare of grace inside of him.

Even once they picked it out, they still had to scope out the place and figure out a plan of attack. Sam mostly handled that, knowing Cas would be less of an asset in a fight without his grace. Even so, Sam handed him a sawed off shotgun and Cas was grateful he didn’t share the same idea of his uselessness that Dean had. After walking around the building twice, he found a tiny window and motioned Cas over, glancing through it just long enough to see three demons and Dean tied up in a chair, obviously being tortured.

Not wanting to waste more time, but knowing it was necessary, Sam gathered up some holy water, a shotgun with extra salt rounds for himself, and went over the exorcism verses a time or two just to be sure. Then, it was time.  

They stormed the place, taking the demons by surprise. Cas shot one quickly while Sam got the other two, pushing them all to the floor, before quickly chanting Latin and drawing out the demons. They both moved towards Dean who was whispering out something between coughs of blood that sounded like Cas’ name.

“Man, he’s really beat up. Can you do anything to help?” Sam glanced at Cas as the angel gently touched Dean’s cheek, trying to gauge his wounds. His eyes were glaring with the same anger and tenderness that filled his own heart at seeing Dean like that.

“I might be able to heal the worst of his injuries and those inflicting his internal organs,” Cas eventually said, doing a check on himself to see how much grace he had left to expend.

“Do it.”

“It will make me even weaker.” Cas paused, looking back at the bleeding man before them. “But he is dying and I can’t allow that.”

Putting a hand on Dean’s chest, he transferred as much grace as he could, pulling together the broken skin and ripped muscles, knowing it was too little, but thankfully not too late. Meanwhile, Sam was sawing off the ropes that were holding his brother down and as soon as Cas was done they hauled him up, one man on each side and dragged him from the warehouse, not even bothering with the bodies lying on the ground.

“Will he be okay?” Sam asked quietly once they’d put Dean in the backseat of the Impala, again knowing Dean would be mad when he realized he’d bled all over the seats.

“He just needs rest. And bandages,” Cas replied somewhat distractedly, watching Dean as the injured man faintly said his name again.

“Should we take him to the hospital anyway?”

“He’s not in danger any more. I healed everything internal and the rest is shallow. In a few days I should be able to heal him the rest of the way.” They fell to silence until arriving at the motel they were all staying at.

Motioning Cas back, Sam heaved Dean to a sitting position, trying to pull him out. Sam helped him out of car and supported him as he limped towards the motel room they’d been staying in. Dean fell ungraciously into a chair in the kitchen area and Castiel closed the door behind the brothers. Sam kneeled in front of Dean and peeled his blood soaked shirt off, exposing the nasty looking cuts that stretched from his shoulder across to his side.

“Shit, I forgot the first aid,” Sam muttered, standing again and dropping the bloody rag on the floor.

“I can—” Cas began but Sam interrupted.

“It’s fine,” he said, already opening the door, “I’ll get it.” Cas was about to say something else but the door closed with a final click and left the two alone. Looking anywhere but at Dean, Cas could feel those green eyes land on him, making him shift slightly. He was still a little angry at Dean, but the man was hurt and Cas didn’t want to make it any worse for him.

“Cas…” Dean started, his voice cracking. Dean fidgeted in his chair, catching Cas’ attention and he saw fresh blood begin to ooze down his chest. Cas was at his side in a moment, hand on his shoulder to hold him down so he wouldn’t hurt himself more.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered, his eyes showing his regret more than his words ever could. “This wouldn’t have… if I—and I shouldn’t… said those things...”

Castiel’s hand rested on Dean’s bloody, flushed cheek. “It’s fine, Dean. I know you only said that because you didn’t want me to get hurt.” He never could stay mad at those pained eyes.

Dean looked like he wanted to say more when he grimaced as Sam entered, first aid in hand. In lieu of words, for the moment, Cas was content with just communicating with Dean through their eyes _. I’m so sorry_ , Dean’s told him _. It’s forgiven_ , the angel tried to say in return.


End file.
